


Feeling A Moment

by SublimeDiscordance



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mentions of Hansens, Pacific Rim Secret Santa 2014, holiday fluff, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/SublimeDiscordance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where "PPDC" means "Family", and holidays should never be spent alone.</p><p>Part of the Pacific Rim Secret Santa 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling A Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jocelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jocelyn/gifts).



> My original idea for this was much angstier and I got about 2.5k words into it before I realized (three days ago) that I didn't have enough time to finish it because it'd barely gotten started. So I started over and this popped out because I wanted fluffy holiday feels.
> 
> Dearest Jocelyn, I hope this is what you were looking for. 
> 
> Apologies to all, by the way: I've never written from Stacker's PoV before, so he might be a bit OOC. >_

Raleigh’s conversing with Mako in rapid Japanese somewhere in the living room by the time Stacker returns from his errand, shutting the door behind him to keep the cold air out in the Alaskan wilderness where it belongs.

“Any luck?” Yancy calls from the kitchen, footsteps coming closer as Stacker shrugs off his coat and leaves it in the closet by the door. Is leaning into the entryway when he turns around, and Stacker almost— _almost_ —has to fight to contain the urge to laugh at the goddamn _ridiculous_ sweater the kid’s wearing under an equally ridiculous apron. Stacker shakes his head, then grinds his teeth and nods when Yancy’s face falls.

“Yeah,” he reaches into the bags he’d left at his feet, pulling out four quart-sized containers—bloody Americans and their ‘imperial’ system—of eggnog. “Were damn near out of it, but I managed to get a few for us.” He takes a moment to pause before adding, “Helps that I can say it’s for PPDC morale and all that, I suppose.”

If Herc were here, he’d probably scowl at that, shaking his head and muttering something about abuse of power, all while glowering at Stacker when the older man thinks he’s not looking. Or, sometimes, he’ll just drop the pretense and glower openly. Scott’d probably elbow Herc in the side if he were ever openly hostile, so Stacker’s fairly certain that Herc’d just settle for being as subtle about it as he can. Which is to say, as subtle as one of those neon signs along the path out of town that advertise “ADULT ENTERTAINMENT”, especially the one with a shapely woman flickering back and forth through some imagined sort of gyration. Scott’d probably end up elbowing him.

Yancy, though, is not Herc. Yancy’s face splits into a grin that, for a moment, lets Stacker forget about the paperwork probably already piling up on his desk. A grin that’s simply...open and carefree. A grin that’s so childish and carefree that it almost surprises him when he remembers that Yancy _is_ a child, is only twenty two.

This fucking war.

A grin that is also hauntingly familiar, though that lacks the same wolfish edge Tamsin would give it.

Tamsin...

This _fucking_ war.

“Marshall, sir, hey,” there’s a hand on Stacker’s shoulder, and he most certainly does _not_ start before his gaze follows it to look back up at Yancy again, takes in the eyebrows that’ve pushed themselves together. “You alright?”

Stacker blinks once, twice, before he realizes he can feel his hands shaking lightly, can feel his blunt fingernails pressing into his palms. Blinks again. Takes a breath. Closes his eyes and takes another before he lets himself open them again. Lets his face pull itself into a small smile. It’s the most he can manage at the moment, memories of Tam’ still threatening to push themselves to the forefront of his mind, but at least its sincere.

“I, yes, fine. Just,” a breath, “memories. Thank you, Yancy,” his mouth twists slightly, lifting more at a corner, “though, really, how many times do I need to tell you to call me Stacker when it’s just family?”

Whatever concern might’ve been in Yancy’s gaze vanishes, and he laughs lowly before mirroring the expression on Stacker’s face.

“At least one more time, sir. Our own father—” Stacker’s fairly certain Yancy tries to hide the way his voice pitches slightly when he says that last word, but, like always, he pretends not to notice, “—had us calling him sir. Gonna take more than that to break a habit that old.”

“I could always make it an order.”

Yancy doesn’t even deign answer that, instead rolling his eyes and reaching for one of the bags at Stacker’s feet. Takes it without even asking for permission, peering inside. When he glances back up and grins, Stacker’s sure it’s because he’s spied the contents that are most decidedly not eggnog.

“You know Rals isn’t legal, right?”

“He’s a god damn ranger.”  As if that wipes away the issue. Which, really, it doesn’t, but it’s the principle of the thing. “If he’s old enough to kill a bloody kaiju he can damn well make adult decisions. Speaking of, don’t think I didn’t hear about the incident with the Hansens and the—” he wants to school his features into a scowl, but he feels his smile just spread wider because _really_ , “—more _exotic_ entertainment they ordered for yourself and your brother after Los Angeles.”

“Actually, that was Scott,” Yancy doesn’t even try to deny the accusation, though he does turn an amusing shade of pink, “but, I mean, you weren’t _there_ for that and now you _are_ and, well, commanding officer and all that—”

“Yancy,” Stacker interrupts him softly as he starts to ramble, putting a hand on his shoulder and dropping the levity, “it’s alright. Look, I,” a pause, considering his words, “I know it’s hard to trust others after what happened with your father. I know I’m not him—”

“As if that’s a bad thing,” Yancy mumbles under his breath, a fake smirk directed at the floor. Stacker acknowledges the words for what they are with a tilt of his head as he continues.

“—and I don’t want to be. I never _wanted_ a family of my own, exactly, but,” he glances behind Yancy, where he can see the back of another atrocious holiday sweater through the doorway at the end of the hall, the person wearing it kneeling on the living room floor. Raleigh, then. The rapid-fire Japanese is drowned out for a moment by a soft, childish laughter, too high-pitched to belong to Raleigh. Something...warm swirls deep in his gut. It feels alarmingly similar to hope. Stacker allows himself to smile again, looking back at Yancy, the hand he has on the kid’s shoulder bearing down slightly to draw those eyes back to him.

“But things have a way of changing.”

They’re both silent for a few moments before Yancy glances back up.

“Thanks, sir.”

“How many times—”

“At least one more, sir.”

Stacker doesn’t even try to hide his smile as Yancy leans forward and scoops the remaining shopping bags from by his feet. Heads into the living room to two bright smiles, two bright greetings—though Raleigh still calls him ‘Marshall’ like his brother—and the sight of a small tree groaning under the weight of the ten boxes of candy canes someone seems to have insisted can actually fit on a tree that size. Though, knowing Raleigh, half of them will be gone by the time the Hansens arrive tomorrow. That kid and hard candy…

He huffs a soft laugh as arms encircle themselves around his midsection with a quiet word. Doesn’t even have to look down as he lets his hand fall to Mako’s head, not moving, simply affirming his presence. Raleigh stands behind her, teeth showing brightly as the corners of his mouth turn up, and that feeling, that _hope-but-not_ , returns full force in the wake of that smile.  Raleigh launches into an explanation of what he and Mako had been talking about—something to do with snowmen and snowball fights. Yancy comes in with their eggnog at some point— _just_ eggnog for Mako—and the feeling gets stronger. 

Stacker closes his eyes, allows himself the feeling for a moment. Allows himself to forget the kaiju and the threat of them constantly looming over the horizon, never mind that the more technically-minded aren’t predicting another attack for at least a month. Allows himself to let the horror, the memories, wash away. In this moment, they aren’t a war veteran with a disease slowly eating away at his insides; aren’t a pair of brothers who lost everything before this even started, who jumped feet-first into this war and bloodied their fists for the first time just two months ago; aren’t a small thirteen-year-old girl who’s already lost more than any of them can fathom.

The feeling of _family_ swallows him up, and Stacker lets it. Lets it mix with the warmth of the rum in his belly.

Opens his eyes. Smiles. Doesn’t miss the way Yancy’s smiling more brightly than Stacker’s ever seen before. Doesn’t miss the way Raleigh’s looking at Mako like she’s the sun to his moon.

Doesn’t miss the fondness he sees in both Beckets’ gazes when they look at him. Feels some mirrored emotion trying to well up in his chest.

Lets himself feel a few more moments.


End file.
